To Cali on the Rhine
by UndertheApfelBaum
Summary: It wasn't fair. Then again, Murdock didn't really consider much of what he had been dealt in life to be fair, and he'd never complained before.  Warnings: Mentions of slash  Face/Murdock  and the twisting of a national anthem.


It wasn't fair. Then again, Murdock didn't really consider much of what he had been dealt in life to be fair, and he'd never complained before. Forcing himself to sing (The National Anthem for the Principality of Liechtenstein, was it?), his hands moved rapidly ahead of his mind as he desperately flipped switches, willing the hunk of junk he'd thought it would be 'fun' to fly back into the air.

"_Oben am jungen Rhein, lehnet sich Liechtenstein, an Alpenh__ö__hn..."_

_This was a stupid idea._ It had been stupid for him to volunteer for this death trap of a covert mission in the first place, and just plain crazy to choose the most dysfunctional of planes in which to perform it. He'd been doing a lot of that, recently; the ghosts of his mind had started to affect his judgement just a little bit more since his team had been convicted (_wrongly_, he always made sure to add), but as far as the CIA were concerned, he was still the best pilot they could find. Even in this situation, he'd done what they wanted, dropping off men in the depths of the jungle, pepping them up so they marched to their deaths full of songs and patriotism. He'd left them, melancholy and nostalgic, until the shots had started and the engine began to cough and he realised that at this rate, he might be beating them to it. Still, he'd go down with a song, if he went down at all.

"_Dies liebe Heimatland, das teure Vaterland...hat Gottes weise Hand, f__ü__r uns erseh'n..."_

Lights were flashing, and for a brief moment, Murdock felt all of his skills, the only thing which had remained clear to him throughout all of his issues, draining away with his eyesight and oxygen, the mantra of _not now, not now_, growing louder and pushing forward in his mind until it eclipsed even the sounds of his own voice and the plane's whistle. He couldn't have a panic attack at a time like this, he couldn't. But without Hannibal's tense calm, without BA's unconscious blissful ignorance and without Face's quietly frightened encouragement, that perfect hand gripping his shoulder he just felt lost.

"_Hoch lebe Liechtenstein, bl__ühend am jungen Rhein..."_

_Oh God, Face_. He'd heard about their escape on the rumour mill weeks back, had harboured this pathetic dream of getting back, getting home and going straight to California (_what's left for him in Texas, anyway?_). He'd track them down, 'cause no way they would have separated, they were unstoppable together, and he'd fall into his best friend's arms and tell him everything he couldn't have told him in the Army, whisper it softly and somehow, Face would always feel the same, because even though he was a womaniser there had been that one time in Hawaii and it...made sense. Something like this was too powerful to ignore, and he'd soothed himself night after night by reminding himself '_When I'm Stateside...Face will love me.'_

It was never going to happen now. His vision cleared to something cloudy and he realised that the blackout had been fought off by tears, the knowledge that he could never confess, never _see Face_, and really, would it have been reciprocated anyway? puncturing him deeper than the bullet in his leg and causing him to almost laugh out the next line at the irony. _Happy and faithful..._

"_Glücklich und treu..."_

The plane screamed (or was it him?) as he made one last ditch attempt to save himself, grabbing the yoke and tilting it in earnest. If he could just find himself some clear landing space, maybe, just maybe...

"_Hoch leb' der Fürst vom Land..."_

His sight was fading again, black spots dancing in front of his eyes but at least the tears had stopped. He wouldn't let himself cry, not when he'd been given so much by the war which had pushed him over the edge, been given Hannibal, BA, _Face_, enough to make him more than happy and forget all of those times he had been abandoned. And yes, they'd left, but not by choice. It was him abandoning them if he let himself go down like this. Shaking his head, he hollered once more, telling himself _'I could fly this baby to Cali if I needed to'_. He couldn't die now, not in the middle of some ass-kiss for the government agency he despised, not without the team. They never leave a man behind, and _fuck_ if he wouldn't avoid that tunnel of light like the plague when his comrades weren't already taking the fall with him.

Billy sat beside him, tail wagging in the co-pilots chair and when Murdock reached out a hand to comfort him, his hands felt metal, cold and hanging just above the leather collar he had fashioned from one of BA's belts (the big guy had complained for almost the entire day, threatened to strangle Murdock, and yet somehow he missed that angry roar). Clenching his fists, he grasped a chain and brought it close, taking his eyes away from the inevitable stretched in front of him to stare at the name etched into the dog tags resting in his palm.

_Templeton A. Peck_

_Face._ Face's dogtags. The Lieutenant had left them behind before Hanoi for some reason that Murdock hadn't really been focusing on at the time, hung on his bunk like some kind of reminder for the only one remaining. He'd left them there after their arrest, snarling at any new recruit who dared aim for Face's bunk. Occasionally, he would lay there himself; he swore he could feel Face's imprint in the mattress and hear his laughter in the messages scratched into the bed above. Sometimes it was the only way he could get to sleep, when the nightmares got too bad and he couldn't breathe for shaking.

But he didn't take them on this mission. He couldn't have, because the dog tags were Face and Face wouldn't have come; just sat at base with a box of Murdock's favourite comic books waiting to celebrate his return. So the dog tags had been on the box, and the looks he received meant nothing when he waved goodbye to them, determined to celebrate, Face or no Face. He hadn't brought them. Had Billy?

100 feet. Maybe this time, just this once, he'd have to go ahead of the team. He wondered, for a brief second, if heaven would be like California. Three men waved to him from their position in the sun, and he smiled, saluting.

"_Durch bruderliebe Band, vereint und frei!"_

Murdock slipped the dog tags around his neck and braced himself for impact.

* * *

Information: National Anthem of Liechtenstein

I chose this for the final two lines, which translate roughly as 'Through the bonds of brotherly love, united and free!', but the rest can fit too, with a stretch of the imagination. The entire translation can be found here: .org/wiki/Oben_am_jungen_Rhein

All comments are appreciated!


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